


The Abduction of the Maiden

by AlexandraCole



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ThePumpkinIsPeople, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Creepy Hannibal, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraCole/pseuds/AlexandraCole
Summary: Will wanders the grounds of Lecter Castle when he encounters a strange man who is certainly more than meets the eye.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic for this fandom, but I love this show and I love Halloween, so I couldn’t let this event pass without contributing to it.
> 
> I hope you like it.
> 
> Edit: Just tweaked and fixed a few minor details.

_Count Lecter the VI kindly requests the pleasure of the company of Lord William Graham to the celebration of All Hallows’ Eve on Wednesday, the 31_ _ st _ _of October at six o’clock._

_Music, cards and dancing._

_An answer will oblige._

_Lecter Castle, Lake District, England_

*/*/*

Will nodded courteously at the footman and brought the cup to his lips, taking a confident sip. At least the sherry was worth the trouble…and it was most welcome. This sort of events tended to grate on his nerves, and patience, and he couldn’t help stealing a glance at the parlour clock, counting the minutes before he could make his polite departure—an hour after dinner, and he still had 40 minutes to go.

He winced.

Will should have never accepted the invitation. He should have thrown it into the fire—like he always did—as soon as he had received it and thought no more of the matter. But Alana…Alana with her big blue eyes and her pretty pink lips, had only to smile at him and plead _,_ begged almost, that he accompany her. And he, like the utter fool that he was, hadn’t been able to refuse her.

They weren’t even married—not even engaged—and already he had found he could deny her nothing. It was most inconvenient.

And now here he was, standing in the furthest corner of the ball room, avoiding all manners of “polite” conversation, sipping the excellent sherry of some foreign Count recently moved to England, as he watched him dance song after song with Alana—who had apparently forgotten Will existed.

Will drank the reminder of his sherry in one gulp.

He stole another look at the clock; the needle had barely moved. Perhaps some fresh air ought to do.

*/*/*

Will was willing to admit one thing: Count Lecter had done an incredible work with the property. Lecter Castle was as formidable as it was magnificent. Given its location atop of a hill, it was possible to get outstanding views of all the lakes, valleys and mountains from any part of the castle. And the Count had certainly spared no expense regarding decorations. The interior of his castle was as lavish and impressive as expected from any of the peers—or so Will thought, with certain derision—but the gardens…

Will didn’t mind that the sun had finally set on the horizon or that the cold Autumn air was now blowing; the gardens were another thing altogether. Rows of carefully tended flower shrubs and trees, framed with stone archways from which vines cascaded towards the lush green grass underneath—all carefully illuminated by the dim lights of oriental lamps along a stone pathway.

It could be called extravagant, but Will found no fault with any of its elements. Even the moon seemed to be in league with the gardens, full as it was, its yellow light descending on the areas the oriental lamps could not illuminate. Had Will any skill with a brush, he would have been moved to paint the landscape before him.

Will smiled ruefully. 

It wasn’t often that he was prone to sentimentalism. Such observations belonged to a much younger self, naïve and reckless, who had gone out into the world to mourn a great loss by living all the excesses life had to offer, financed, of course, by his recent inheritance.

Those had certainly been interesting times. 

_Brian laughs loudly, arm draped over his shoulders. Jimmy empties the bottle and complains, he wonders if there’s more._

_Brian proposes going to a_ maison _to get better acquainted with the Venetian ladies or gentlemen, should any of them feel so inclined._

_Will is about to make a suggestion but something pulls his attention from his friends and he turns his head. He sees a man standing by the pier._

_Time seems to slow down while Will gawks at the man, fashionably dressed in his black woollen frock coat, purple silk brocade waistcoat and black ascot tie._

_Their eyes lock._

_Brown pools speckled with red make Will’s words falter and his heart beat faster._

Will shook his head. No, that was one part of his past he didn’t need intruding upon him now.

He shivered into his black frock, the cold air biting into his bones and nipping at his face, but he was disinclined to return to the party—where Alana was probably still dancing. He decided then to walk along the pathway, to allow the pale light of the lamps to guide him on a merry stroll through the castle grounds, and perhaps the exercise would help too with the glass too many of wine, or sherry he had taken—because clearly him being maudlin and reminiscent was to be blamed on his drinking.

*/*/*

Will walked and walked, beholding the many kinds of flowers and shrubs he encountered on his way, the sound of the crickets and the wind as his sole companions. He was about to turn around and return, when a shine on the grass caught his eye. It was the moon. 

Or rather, it was the moon, reflected on the surface of a small pond as it were a mirror. It was further deep into the garden, away from the pathway and the lights. Will approached the small pond cautiously, heels no longer clacking as he left the stone to step onto the grass.

It was rather curious, to be staring down into a perfect reflection of the sky, the wind wafting gently on the surface, creating almost invisible ripples on the water.

Will’s breath hitched. The image before him was oddly familiar. 

_Saint Michael Island, Venice. People lighting candles at the graves of their loved ones, the gondolas making their way back and forth in the eerie stillness of the night—a local festivity, according to Jimmy._

_It’s a full moon, and the water of the lagoon reflects it as if there were another sky, the illusion shattering only by the rippling of the surface when another boat disturbs the water._

_Will walks on a gravelled path, his shoes crunching the small stones with each step. There are tombstones and mausoleums; the candles left at each grave cast ghostly shadows in all possible corners and angles. It’s gloomy and almost mystical, like something out of a tale of horror, yet Will isn’t afraid._

_His fingers find his companion’s hand. It’s just a brush, a suggestion._

_The hand turns and their fingers intertwine._

_“It’s beautiful,” Will says, daring to hold his hand, taking advantage of the relative darkness. His heart is pounding so loudly it feels as if it were to burst out of his chest._

_“I knew you would like it,” the man says, rising their joined hands to his lips, planting a soft kiss in Will’s palm before leading him further into the cemetery._

_His voice speaks in perfect English but there is an accent to it that sends a shiver down Will’s spine with every word uttered._

_A voice warns caution in Will’s mind. He turns around to make sure they are alone before bringing their lips together in a kiss._

_The man pushes Will against the wall of a mausoleum and pins his hands above his head. Will curls a leg around one of the man’s calves wanting to feel more._

_For an instant, Will feels as if the whole world were fading, the only thing real are the warm lips that move on his, the tongue that soothes the fervent bites to his lips, and the hands that hold him firmly in place._

_“Will!” a voice yells and the kiss ends much too soon. There’s no one there but them, yet Will knows it was indeed Brian and Jimmy whom he saw at the entrance of the cemetery. They are looking for him._

_“I have to go,” Will says, thumb stroking a high cheekbone, gently, adoringly._

_“Stay,” the man cajoles, bending down for another kiss. He spreads Will’s legs with his bent knee and Will—_

_“Will!”_

_Will breaks the kiss._

_“Meet me tomorrow,” Will says, scurrying past the other man._

_A hand grabs his and pulls him in for another desperate kiss. Will doesn’t resist._

_“Will!” the voice draws nearer and Will has to shove the other man off of him._

_“Hotel Palazzo Abadessa, three o’clock,”_

_The man stares at him yearningly and Will wavers. Maybe if he—_

_“Will!” the voice is coming closer._

_“Promise me!”_

_“I promise I’ll find you,” the man says. Will grins and goes to where he can hear his friends calling for him._

_He doesn’t look back._

Will opened his eyes. For the briefest of seconds, he thought he could feel the warmth of that last kiss on his lips and the breath of the man on his ear as he whispered his promise.

He had been such a fool.

He never even got a name, and now he barely had the memory of the face. It had been so long ago.

“You shouldn’t be wandering these gardens so close to midnight. Who knows what sorts of spirits lurk from the shadows beneath the cover of the night?” an accented voice said behind Will and he felt a shiver run down his spine—it was as if the voice of his memory had seeped through and taken shape in the real world.

He turned around, uncertain of what to expect.

“Are you attempting to frighten me, sir?” Will said, facing the stranger. 

There was the silhouette of a man, tall by the looks of it, standing underneath a tree, wrapped in shadows. At that distance Will was unable to discern the man’s features, although he could see a pair of eyes watching him intently, glowing from the darkness like those of an animal.

“Frighten? No, I was merely advising caution,” the man replied, walking closer to him, stepping finally into the moonlight.

Will hadn’t been wrong, his interloper was indeed a tall and lean man, but he lacked the characteristic gaunt that seemed common in men of his complexion. 

Brown eyes with a straight nose and a pair of unusual lips—which were rather enticing if Will were honest—, all his features framed by a pair of inconceivable high-cheekbones that were his most remarkable attribute. Doubtlessly he casted a striking figure, despite the slight paleness of his skin.

There was something about the man’s face that stirred something in Will, but it was…foggy, like trying to recall a dream long forgotten.

“Pardon me, but, have we met before?” Will heard himself ask before he could stop himself. 

The man tilted his head a fraction, the motion slightly mechanical, “Why do you ask?”

“You seem…familiar,”

The corners of the man’s mouth lifted in the outline of a smile.

“Perhaps I have one of those faces,” he suggested, his eyes were searching to make contact with Will’s own, but Will didn’t allow it, focusing instead on a spot above his left eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” Will said, although he was certain they both knew that wasn’t the case. The features were relatively peculiar, but together they rendered the face an impossibly rare and fascinating thing of manly grace and beauty. Or maybe that was Will’s biased appreciation only.

“I apologise for intruding. I was merely passing by when I chanced upon you. I shall leave you to your contemplations,” the man made as if to retreat, but Will stopped him.

“No, it’s-it’s fine, I don’t mind the company,” under any other circumstance, that statement would have been a lie.

The man aborted his retreat and joined Will by the side of the pond instead. The air seemed to get colder and Will suppressed a shiver.

“I’m relieved to know I’m not the only one who needed some time away from all that hustle and bustle,” the man said in a conspiratorial tone that made Will smile and nod in agreement.

“That is the consequence of inviting the entire British nobility here. Honest to God, that Count didn’t know what he was in for,” Will said, and his words came with an unintended contempt that made Will worry he had gone too far. He didn’t know this man, he could be a relative of the Count for all he knew. Yet the stranger merely smiled.

“We are just missing the Royal family. It appears they were otherwise engaged for the evening,”

“No surprise there,” Will replied. The air howled through the crown of the trees and Will felt the strong currents hit him in the face.

“It seems you’ve brought an ill wind with you, sir,” Will said, noticing the sudden change in the weather. 

“Then perhaps I am one of the lurking spirits I was cautioning you about,” the man replied, clearly amused.

“Perhaps,”

Another gust of wind broke through and this time, Will shrugged his shoulders and pulled up his collar.

“I suggest we retire to a less open area,” Will said, voice raised enough to be heard above the howling of the wind.

“I saw a small private gallery near here, if you’re of a mind,” the man said, holding the rim of his top hat with a gloved hand, lest it flew away. 

“After you,” Will held, holding onto his hat as well, pleased to be given the option of a shelter that didn’t require going back to the party. The man nodded and both men set on their way, the man leading Will to what seemed to be the deepest part of the garden and further away from the pathway.

For a moment, both of them were dark figures moving in the night. The only sounds that could be heard were the violent rustling of leaves and branches, and the roar of the wind as it passed through the trees. Their only source of light was the moon.

*/*/*

Indeed—almost at the other end of the garden—there was a small building, resembling more a medieval chapel than a gallery, with its pointed arches, large windows and spires. 

The man stood by the door and placed a gloved hand on the handle, “Will it open, you reckon?,” he whispered, pushing the door with dramatic slowness.

The door creaked and both men stepped inside.

There were about a dozen paintings there, hanging from the four walls. The air smelled stale and the tile floor was covered in dust. It was obvious no one had set foot in here in a very long time. The wind wasn’t abating and at least their prospective shelter was made of stone—which in Will’s opinion was more than sufficient, so he didn’t dare complain about the rest.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the candles of the gallery lit up, illuminating the area in a soft warm light.

“Was that your doing, fiendish spirit?” Will asked playfully, although he was more curious by the strange occurrence than frightened.

The eyes of the man glinted and his upper lip curved up in a half-smile.

“Perhaps,”

“You can try all night, but it won’t work, you know. I’m not some gullible fool who believes in ghouls and goblins,” Will took off his hat, and saw the man do the same with his, revealing light brown hair streaked with grey, brushed to the side, not waxed in place. It was an uncommon fashion—even Will was willing to admit—but it suited the other man, adding to the handsomeness of his features.

“It is All Hallows’ Eve, is it not? The first night of the year when otherworldly creatures are allowed to roam free on this realm,” the man said, running a hand through his soft-silk hair.

“The first night?” Will asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“Why yes, the first. In other countries, this connection between worlds happens either on the first or second day of November…or on both,” the man explained nonchalantly.

“I was aware of the fact, yet I lend little credence to the tale…and now you surmise it’s actually three nights and just one?” Will asked incredulous albeit with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“Is it too farfetched a notion?”

Will felt the man’s eyes on him, searching for his gaze, so Will did the exact opposite and stared at one of the candles burning nearby instead. He wasn’t fond of eye contact.

“I confess I ignore whether you jest in earnest, sir, or if you truly are either a religious or superstitious man,” Will said, shifting his eyes to one of the many paintings that framed the internal walls. Now that they were here, they could at least look at them.

“Religion pays homage to God; superstition, to foolishness…I could be neither,”

“Yet you speak as if you have some belief in the matter,” 

“One cannot be entirely devoid of belief, regardless of whom one chooses to place their faith on; man or a divinity,”

Will was about to raise an opposing argument when he suddenly froze.

There, right in front of him, a canvas hung from a wall. It depicted a young and fair woman, dressed in white, carried by a burly man as a bride over a threshold. The woman seemed to have fainted in his arms, lax and unconscious. The left hand of the man held on to the reins of four black horses which pulled the cart he was driving, away from a town and into a meadow, where a storm was raging on the horizon.

Will had seen that painting before, in Venice, almost ten years ago.

“The Abduction of the Maiden,” he whispered, his eyes tracing all the familiar brushstrokes that formed the scenery.

“Are you familiar with the story?” 

_“She doesn’t seem to be struggling much,” Will mutters as he takes in all the details of the image. It wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone else, but a man’s voice replies all the same._

_“Indeed not,” the stranger agrees, eyes darting briefly to Will and back to the painting. He’s tall and lean, and Will stares at him more than would be considered polite, but he recognises the man—he saw him by the pier the night before._

_“There are others wherein she struggles, yet in this one, it is obvious the artist decided on a different interpretation, do you see?” the stranger says and Will forces his attention back to the painting._

_He hadn’t noticed at first, but now, taking in her unorthodox pose of apparent surrender, his eyes catch the detail of the hand over the man’s shoulders; the fingers of the maiden seem to be sliding across the man’s shoulder, almost like a caress. The pose is intimate, more akin to a pair of lovers._

_Will looks at the description to find the painter’s name, but the inscription reads “Unknown”._

_“Are you familiar with the story?” The man asks, getting closer, standing right behind him._

_“Can’t say that I am, no,” Will says, his heart beating faster at their proximity, at the warmth coming from the other man, “Would you share it with me?” his question sounds affected, coy._

_The corners of the man’s man lift in a smile and Will finds himself returning it._

_“The Hidden One was a god, condemned to rule the underworld until the end of times,” the words are spoken softly behind his ear, each breath making his skin tingle and shiver._

_“He was only allowed to visit the world of the living for three nights every ten years, when the veil dividing both worlds grew thin. It was on these occasions that he would wander the Earth, marvelling at the beauty of life, revelling in its vibrancy, contented, as it were, to be part of that world, if only so briefly. Until one night he saw her,”_

_The stranger makes a pause and Will turns his head towards him, unconsciously chasing his words. Will jolts when their lips almost collide._

_Lips hover close, breaths mingle together and Will lifts his gaze timidly to stare into the brown eyes that stare right back at him._

_“A young and beautiful bashful little thing, full of radiance and beauty,”_

_Will tries to fight down the blush that spreads through his cheeks, but he knows he fails miserably._

_The eyes looking down at him shine with contentedness and Will feels that time has stood still, or rather, that it has stopped being. There’s only this warm sensation that envelops him, that pulls at him and leaves room for nothing, except for those eyes, brown and crisp, and all-knowing._

_“From the moment his eyes set upon hers, it was as if her soul was laid bare before him and he saw she was…unique,”_

_Will feels like he is out of breath, he bites at his lower lip, trying to distract himself from the intense gaze that has most certainly bewitched him._

_It is the stranger who breaks the eye contact first and Will almost protests his departure._

_“Fearful of never finding her again and wary that time was running short, he abducted her and brought her back to the Underworld to be his wife,”_

_The spell is broken, and while his body is still reeling with exhilaration, Will forces to compose himself and focus on the story he was being told. Once all the fragments are pieced together in his mind, he frowns._

_“I don’t believe the Maiden took kindly to that,” Will reasons, eyes moving back to the brushstrokes that shape the woman’s face. Her lips are slightly parted, he notices._

_“Most certainly not,” the stranger replies, “She refused to eat, drink or sleep. She believed death was preferable to an eternity by his side, which is why, aware of her despair, the Hidden One agreed to return the Maiden to the world of the living, under the condition that she agree to partake from his table before her departure,”_

_Will quirks an eyebrow and turns towards the man._

_“He tricked her?” Will asks, lifting his gaze once more, searching for that pair of impossible brown eyes, trying to recapture that feeling of before. Was it imagined or was it real?_

_Their eyes find each other. They hold._

_“Yes,” the stranger says, voice barely above a whisper, “it was a trick,”_

_Will falls into deep contemplation after that, then, the idea strikes and his face lights up._

_“She was seduced,” he says, and the turns to the man to confirm his suspicions,_ _“That is why this painting is different from the others, isn’t it? Because she…she was seduced first,” Will concludes._

_The man assents, his eyes shimmering with pride and Will knows that he is blushing again._

_And yes, there it is again—that pull, that need that makes Will want to get closer, to wrap himself around the man and kiss, and touch, and—_

_“Come with me,” is the request and Will has never been so eager to comply._

_They slip out of the gallery before Jimmy and Brian can find them._

The memory was too vivid and Will ran a shaky hand through his face, brushing his curls back, trying to brush the images away. He took a deep breath, and then another.

Once he knew his mind to be fully his again, Will opened his eyes, half expecting the man to be gone, to discover that it had been a figment of his own imagination, or a cruel joke of his subconscious…but no. There he was, still standing by his side, a curious glint in his eyes.

“So, tell me, are you familiar with the story?” the man asked again and Will felt a coil tightening in his stomach and his fist clenching by his sides, intent to erase the smugness reflected on that face with a well-centred punch.

He did nothing of the sort. He swallowed his anger and cracked his neck, trying to release some of the tension.

“I know a story,” Will said finally, calm and composed, “It’s the story of a young boy of seventeen who met a man in Venice,” Will paused, gauging the other man’s reaction. Finding it impassive, Will continued, not missing a heartbeat.

“One night the man told him a story about a painting and the boy, naïve and foolish, fell immediately for his charm and his foreign accent and his handsome face. They sneaked out of the museum and spent the rest of the evening walking through the alleys, until night came upon them,” 

Will made a pause. He could still remember the giddy excitement he had felt as they made their way to the _Isola di San Michele_ ; arms brushing, stares holding…his heart racing all along, wondering fervently if that was how it felt, being in love. 

Will huffed a laugh full of bitterness. 

“It was the Day of the Dead, and as tradition dictates, the people cross the lagoon on boats and gondolas, and place candles at the graves of their loved ones. It was here that the man took the boy, and here that the boy grew bold and, against his better judgement, kissed the man on the lips, believing he had found true love,”

Will’s voice cracked and he hated himself for it. He cleared his throat, and then he continued, in the same calm tone as before.

“The boy’s friends were looking for him, having seen him enter the cemetery, so he knew he had to leave before he was discovered. Addled by ardent kisses and passionate words, the boy made the man promise to find him the next day and to the boy’s surprise the man promised he would,”

Will closed his eyes for a second, trying to dissipate the sting of self-recrimination nagging at his brain. He had allowed it many times before, he could allow it again—once he was home with his dogs and a bottle of brandy—but now was not that time.

“In the end, the boy waited and waited for hours, but the man never came. At first, it felt like a betrayal, and the boy cursed the day he met the man but, as he grew older and wiser, the boy later became grateful to him, for he had taught him a lesson of much value that spared the boy from similar…disappointments,”

Silence fell heavy in the gallery and a draft of wind slithered through the windows, making the candles flicker. The shadows of the walls contorted and twisted, dancing tremulously around them.

Accepting the silence as a confession, Will turned around. He began to walk away from the man and towards the door—infernal wind be damned—but once his hand reached the door handle he halted. It came as quite a shock to him to realise that he had been harbouring the hope of a justification—even an excuse—after all this time.

Will sighed heavily. It was both liberating and painful to know there was indeed none. The wound felt raw once more. Will turned back again, but this time his face was contorted in pure rage. He walked menacingly towards the other man until they stood face to face.

The shadows on the walls seemed to grow larger, almost to the point of consuming the gallery in darkness.

“Do you have any idea what I—no, what _you—_ ” Will faltered, torn between avenging ten years of heartbreak or acting like the gentleman he was supposed to be.

“It’s not worth it. _You_ are not worth it,” Will declared solemnly once his internal battle subsided. Light returned to the stone walls and the natural dimness of the room settled in once more.

The man, who had remained vexingly unfazed by the entire display, took a step close to Will.

“Apologies, my intentions were never to mock you,” Will saw the man approach from the corner of his eye, but he remained still.

“Which occasion are you referring to, exactly? That day in Venice when you played me for a fool or tonight, pretending we were both strangers?” Will spat furiously. He was aware that his body was still trembling with rage and his fists curled at his sides.

He hadn’t been prepared for this emotional ambush tonight. For a second he was that boy of seventeen who had cried himself to sleep for days until he had no more tears left. He drove a fist at the wall. Once. Twice. 

Will gave a slow exhale.

The man of twenty-seven he currently was looked down at his knuckles, at the angry red bruise that had sprang up and the tiny cuts recently formed on each protruding bone. It wasn’t hurting him now, but he would surely feel it come morning. He could live with that.

Suddenly he felt a hand hover above his shoulder, and he was ready to turn and punch the bastard in the face, but the hand never touched him, so he didn’t turn.

“Both, I’m afraid,” the voice said calmly behind him, closer. It was infuriating how soothing it truly was, when Will wanted it to be anything but. He could feel some of his anger dissipate, but pride made him keep a good measure of it.

“While it was physically impossible for me to meet you that day in Venice, I am aware there is no excuse that could possibly suffice, so I won’t try,” the man made a pause, to gauge Will’s reaction. Finding no opposition to his statement, he continued, “as for tonight...were I to say I was just trying to save myself from embarrassment should you have forgotten about me, would you find it in you to forgive me my deceit?” the man asked, and Will found the tone gentler than before, almost coy and disarmingly open. 

Will’s heart gave a pang…and he berated himself mentally for that. He shouldn’t let this man affect him so, and yet it was bloody confounding! Being furious, disconcerted and thrilled, all at the same time. Over a man!

Not any man, certainly.

 _The_ man.

Will realised he had been holding his breath only when he let it go, and he wondered whether the other man had noticed. He did turn this time, and while there was still anger in him, there was another emotion that overpowered all the rest and made him look for the man’s eyes.

They locked.

It was…surreal, to know these were indeed the pools of brown with tinkling red that had haunted him for almost ten years. The eyes upon which he had stared one night at a museum and just from one look had convinced him to follow their owner unquestionably. Had this man led him to the gates of hell that very night, Will had an inkling he would have gone there merrily, so long as that hand had kept on holding and those eyes had kept on staring.

Because no one else had looked at him like this man had done, back then…and now.

“Age has become you,” the man said, eyes half-lidded. A gloved hand lifted tentatively to his cheek, almost as if to caress, but the fingers curled and the hand lowered again.

What would Will had done if the man had touched him?

A heavy and rasping sigh escaped Will’s lips.

Dear Lord, it had been a protest.

“Whereas you remain unchanged,” replied Will, almost in a whisper. He didn’t trust his voice to go beyond that. The man gave him his now characteristic upwards smile and Will felt his lips quiver as his heart began to pound loudly in his chest.

It must have been a trick of the flickering candlelight, but Will could have sworn that for a second he saw the shadows distorting around his companion, sprouting from his back like long tendrils encroaching on his own. He blinked and they were gone.

A few minutes went by in silence as Will’s disarray of thoughts and emotions suddenly reached an accord. There were questions that demanded answers, two which were the most pressing ones. He went for the most harmless.

“How did you know I was going to be here?”

“Wasn’t all of the British nobility in attendance?”

It wasn’t the answer Will wanted to hear—it wasn’t even answer, technically—but Will continued the game.

“Minus the Royal Family, due to a prior engagement,”

The brown eyes shone with mischief and Will felt like he had passed some sort of test. It made him feel proud of himself, just like that time he shared his conclusions about the painting.

“You know, you have this terrible habit of prevaricating…I’m not sure whether I find it vexing or enticing,”

The pupils of the brown eyes widened marginally and the lips curved in a smug smile as the brown irises traveled to Will’s lips, where they fixed.

“I could say the same about you,”

Will watched in delight how the man’s expression faltered for the fraction of a second as he slowly licked his lower lip.

“I have another question, but I need a more forthcoming answer,” Will said, hissing most of his words, making sure to move his lower lip more than what was strictly necessary.

The nostrils of the other man flared and Will delighted in his small victory.

“Pose your question,”

“Why come find me, after all this time?”

The man seemed to consider this for a very long time; his eyes narrowed and unfocused, and he seemed distant, as if he were someplace else entirely. Behind him, the shadows quivered and stretched, and the wind roared.

Then, his eyes gleamed and, it must have been a trick of the light, because the brown seemed to turn red right before Will’s eyes, and the man…he didn’t look quite like a man anymore. There was something else there, hidden—hiding—beneath the mortal flesh and it was now pulling at the seams of the person-suit.

Will supposed he ought to be frightened by the notion; and he was, he truly was, because whereas any other sensible person would have feared for their life should they happened to be on his shoes, Will felt nothing but arousal running through every fibre of his being.

The man…or, being, seemed oblivious to Will’s reaction, as it leaned down to breathe his reply on his ear.

“Because I wanted to seduce you first,”

Outside the wind seemed to die down.

“We should go back,” said Will, suddenly needing to be away from the gallery. He had no idea of how much time had elapsed since he had left the party, or whether Alana had finally noticed his absence.

The man—for he looked like a man once more—nodded. This time Will led the way.

*/*/*/*

The stone pathway became visible as they reached the pond once more, but they were still far off. The moon was perched so high in the sky Will was certain it was just past midnight.

They had made their trajectory in a rather awkward silence—Will busy with his thoughts, the man once more retired to that someplace else Will couldn’t fathom—but the moment they got closer to the pond, Will felt the tension drop from his shoulders and he dared a glance at his companion, whose face was inscrutable.

If Will had to make an educated guess, he would say the other was waiting for Will to make the first move.

“You know, you never did tell me what happened after the Hidden One tricked the Maiden,” Will said finally—and after much consideration and internal monologue.

The man returned to consciousness and his eyes stared at Will’s. They seemed to study him for a moment and then he smiled.

“Did I not say?” there was that unmistakable glint of mischief in the man’s eyes and Will felt his own mouth shape into a smirk.

“No, I believe you did not,”

“How remiss of me,”

The man moved closer to Will, close enough for their chests to touch and Will almost awaited the contact, but it never came.

“Do you know what this is?” the man asked suddenly, extending his hand to grab something from a branch behind Will. He cut down a curious fruit Will didn’t recognise at first—or had seen there in the first place, actually—until the man took out a knife from his jacket pocket and cut it in half. He offered one to Will, the seeds looking almost black in the moonlight.

“Pomegranate,” Will said, accepting the half offered to him, “It’s not common in England,” 

“This is a capricious fruit. It almost never grows in cold climates,” the man pocketed his knife once more.

Will grabbed a seed from his half, but instead of eating it himself, he offered it to the man. Brown eyes immediately locked with his, and the man parted his lips. Will fed him the seed, fingers brushing the other’s lips.

“And the Maiden?” Will asked, eyes transfixed on the pair of lips that moved as if to suck on his withdrawing fingers.

This time, the man offered him a seed from his half of the fruit, but all Will did was cock one eyebrow expectantly. 

“Betrayed by her hunger she ate from his table, binding herself to the underworld, forever,”

Will parted his lips then, eyes unable to look away from brown ones as a pair of warm long fingers pushed the small red seed into his mouth. 

Will gave the man’s index finger a playful bite.

The man smirked.

“Yet the Maiden from our painting, the one who allowed herself to be seduced…what sort of fate befell her?,” Will asked, closing the distance between them. The wind picked up once more, ruffling the foliage of the trees.

“I imagine she proved herself the equal of the God,” the man replied, eyes turning red once more, “and they ruled the Underworld, together,”

The wind rose and shook all the leaves from the trees, but Will no longer felt the cold. The garden, the pond and the pathway were rapidly fading from view, engulfed by an all-consuming darkness as time slowed down around them.

“I like that story better,” Will said, intertwining their fingers, “But don’t think I’ve entirely forgiven you,”

“Oh?” 

Will slid his free hand over the lapels of the other’s frock coat, feeling the firm planes of his chest. With a smirk, he tugged his god towards him, resting their foreheads together.

“Good thing you have an eternity to make it up to me,”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the myth of Hades and Persephone (or Pluto and Proserpine, depending if we’re talking Greeks or Romans) but I changed it a bit to make it more ad-hoc for Halloween. Also, according to the ever-trusted wiki, Persephone means “The Maiden” while Hades “The Hidden One”. Hence the names.
> 
> Honestly this story began as some weird hunter/werewolf AU that somehow morphed into the story of a young boy falling for the god of the Underworld….which finally turned into this.
> 
> Oh and yeah, whoever this Count Lecter was, it sure wasn't Hannibal. Maybe an ancestor in a parallel world??


End file.
